


Phantom Limb

by owl_coffee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owl_coffee/pseuds/owl_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It itched. Sometimes it burned, felt like hot droplets of rain on his skin. Like someone was rubbing his arm with a cloth, scratching. That prickly heat you got when you had been sitting on your arm too long, pins-and-needles piercing. It didn't make any sense because the real arm wasn't there any more, but there were a lot of painful things in Bucky's life that didn't make sense so he didn't pay it any mind. Until the arm started to do things on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Limb

It itched. Sometimes it burned, felt like hot droplets of rain on his skin. Like someone was rubbing his arm with a cloth, scratching. That prickly heat you got when you had been sitting on your arm too long, pins-and-needles piercing. It didn't make any sense because the real arm wasn't there any more, but there were a lot of painful things in Bucky's life that didn't make sense so he didn't pay it any mind. Until the arm started to do things on its own.

The first time it happened, he was sitting on a bench next to Captain America. They were trying to look inconspicuous, searching for a way into the building where the plans for the Raft were kept. The Captain had gotten hold of newspapers from somewhere, and they were sitting holding them like some kind of cut-price private investigators. Bucky held a coffee cup in his metal fingers, contents slowly going cold. He wasn't allowed stimulants. They disturbed the balance.

Bucky was pretending to look at the newspaper story, something about a garbage truck strike. Then, it happened. His fingers - his real fingers, they felt like - reached out and rested on the cloth of Steve - of the Captain's - thigh. Comfortably, like they were meant to be there. He could feel the cheap cloth of the pants, nothing fancy but at least it kept out the cold, and the warmth soaking through from underneath. It was like being struck by lightning. Bucky clenched his metal fist and started up from his paper, spilling coffee everywhere. His hand wasn't resting anywhere, it was just where he left it holding the coffee cup. In the sharp pain of the spilled hot liquid Bucky forgot exactly what happened. Some mental illusion must have disturbed the balance again. We have to erase those, or the subject starts to lose control.

"Shit!" exclaimed the Captain, starting up from the bench as the shooting starts. "Looks like we lost the element of surprise, Sam. C'mon Bucky, we're going in, they spotted us!"

 

The second time it happened was less of a surprise but more disturbing. They were taking over the Raft control room, trying to pull their punches so everyone didn't get angrier at them than they already were, only the Winter Soldier kept forgetting and trying to come out. They were trying to hurt Steve. No-one was allowed to hurt Steve. When one of the guards lunged at Steve and brought him down by the legs and they tased him, everything slipped into slow motion. Bucky felt his hand squeeze on the trigger for the first time, cold steel underneath his fingers on the firing range, that's-it-you-got-it-son, we'll make a soldier of you yet. Feeling the kick of it against his arm, bracing the gun against his shoulder. Smell of cigarette smoke, sound of screaming. And back in the room, the guard was reeling back after Sam punched him.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said, don't do that stuff any more, but that was a lie, wasn't it. That was what the subject wanted to think. But there wasn't a hole in the guard's head. Where was the gun? He wasn't holding a gun. It must have been another illusion, so Bucky shook it off. Time to get moving, don't get distracted.

They moved down to the next level, hoping their friends hadn't been too damaged by their imprisonment, would be able to fight.

 

Final time, he's expecting it. The Wakandans explained some things to Bucky, started to make sense of some of it for him. The longer he's out of the ice, the stronger the neurosensory illusions become. That's part of why they kept him frozen between missions. Keep him fresh. When the arm doesn't move exactly as his metal arm really does, it's confusing, slows him down. Ghost motions, ghost sensations. Might stop him shooting when he needs to. Bucky can push down most of the memories but whenever the arm moves itself it floors him.

Touch is difficult to get rid of, difficult to erase. Like scent, it clings in the mind even when the original source has been excised from him. Bucky feels textures from long ago, Steve's drawing paper, the old buttons and knicknacks he used to keep in a shoebox. It intrudes into the present.

The Wakandans agreed to ice him again, reset the clock. It's for the best. When he wakes up, maybe they'll have worked out a way to erase the damage. Turn him back into a real boy. Strapped in - not securely, nothing he couldn't snap in a moment - he looks at Steve and tries to make his face reassuring. Bucky thinks he succeeds, though facial expressions are still difficult at times. Steve looks unhappy, but at peace. A strand of hair is falling across his brow, and the arm reaches up and tucks it behind his ear as the glass comes down. Sweet warmth blossoms in his chest. Soft. That hair was always falling across Steve's eyes as he sat drawing, as Bucky drew him closer into an embrace - wait. Bucky remembered again, at last, and wanted to struggle but it was too late. The ice is already inside. Time to sleep before the next mission. Everything recedes, even the memory of Steve's face and eyes and hair.

Good soldier.


End file.
